Hermione Granger's Guide to Torturing Harry Potter
by zipple
Summary: I have an evil plot bunny. I've named him Frank. He's always good for a laugh.


Author's note: Please overlook the obvious excuses and plot holes in this. I was attacked by an evil plot bunny and just wanted to see it happen. So sue me.

Of course, not mine.

--

"I'M NOT WEARING THAT!" Harry bellowed.

Hermione was holding the cotton fabric out as a pathetic offering to Harry. "Well, unless you'd like to freeze to death, you're going to have to. Besides, it's the only clean, dry clothing we have."

Harry swore under his breath. Ron was off in the corner, failing miserably at hiding his amusement. After all, it wasn't every day your best mate was caught in the rain while scrounging for food and was only offered _that_ in lieu of real clothing to keep warm and dry.

"Why can't we use magic to dry-"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The same reason why it's barely a good idea to put up protection charms. Because too much magic will give away our position."

"But one more spell shouldn't hurt!" Harry pointed out, flinging water all over the inside of the tent as he flailed his arms.

The glare that Harry got from Hermione plainly meant that Harry would be experiencing a painful death regardless if it were in wet clothes or with Death Eaters.

Maybe it wasn't too late to switch sides. With crazy women like Hermione around, Harry might just be safer joining Voldemort.

"Oh, just wear the damn thing," Hermione said. She rolled her eyes and stepped over to Harry. He knocked her hand away out of reflex as she went to remove his sopping jumper. Ron squeaked in the corner.

"Oh honestly, Harry," Hermione groaned, ignoring Ron's squeak and Harry's blushes. "I'm not groping you! But you _can't _stay in those clothes."

Harry backed away.

"You'll catch your death!"

"You think after 7 years I'd be worried about that?" He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

"You'll freeze!"

Harry glared over at Ron, who was turning redder than his hair. Not out of embarrassment, mind, but in an effort to stifle his giggles. Unfortunately, Ron had known Harry too long for the evil look of death to mean much.

Furrowing his brow and looking petulant, Harry gritted his teeth and ground out "Absolutely. Positively. Definitely. _Not_."

Hermione, at first, looked like she was about ready to scream. Panting with suppressed anger, she looked just as pissed as Harry felt. Even Ron's smile was fading into a look of worry.

Then, all of a sudden, Hermione's look of fury became thoughtful. In fact, she looked rather peaceful.

This could not be good.

Tucking the cotton under her arm, Hermione put her hand to her chin and circled Harry with curious eyes. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

Giving a brief nod, Hermione wandered to her bottomless beaded purse and made a great show of pulling out some parchment and a quill.

Finally, Harry took the bait.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to believe that the shiver in his voice was from the wet clothing. And _that _he could handle perfectly fine, thank you very much.

Hermione grinned suspiciously as Harry covertly rubbed his arms in attempt to warm up. "Oh," she hummed casually. "I thought I'd write a little letter. Maybe slip it in a muggle post box or snag a post owl-"

"A letter?"

"Yep," she chirped. "I'm sure Ron's mother is absolutely mad for some news from us. So I guess now is as good of a time as any-"

Harry and Ron caught each other's eyes. She wouldn't-

__

"'Dear Molly-'"

Before Harry could stop himself, he reached out a hand and pulled the parchment out of Hermione's hands, causing the ink to streak across the page.

"NO!" he begged.

Harry had never seen Hermione look so smug.

"Bugger," he muttered, resigned.

--

The rain had long since stopped. After a rare good tuck of potatoes and carrots, it was Harry's turn to keep guard. All throughout dinner, Ron kept smirking and choking on his meal. Harry stared across the room at his drying clothes, disgusted with himself for giving in. He did feel nice and warm now and was safe from the threat of Molly Weasley's wrath, but that did not make him feel any better about the whole situation.

"Well, I'm heading to bed," Hermione said as she tucked away the dishes for the morning. "Be sure to wake me when it's time for my shift."

Harry grunted unintelligibly, which Hermione chose to ignore.

Waiting until she was out of earshot, Ron leaned forward, smirking. He got as far as opening his mouth to comment before Harry stabbed his fork into the table beside Ron's hand.

"Not one word," he warned. With one more meaningful glare, Harry pushed himself away from the table and got up awkwardly. He itched to scratch at the fabric out of unfamiliarity rather than curiosity or need. Grabbing his wand, Harry strode to the mouth of the tent and plopped himself down on the stool. From inside the tent, he could hear Ron finally letting out the giggles that he had been threatening to let loose ever since Harry had come back.

He held out longer than they expected.

Harry sighed and rucked up the old flowered nightgown to his knees so he could spread out a bit. Of all the things to find in the dressers of the old, second-hand tent…

However, as much as he hated to admit it, the nightgown did give him a nice healthy breeze around the privates…


End file.
